None Other
by L. Fox1
Summary: They say your soulmate should be your best friend... (slash warning)


**None Other**   
  
I can only think one thing as I sit here, aching: _I want my Mom and Dad._ The ache is so deep it feels as though something's wrenching my soul out of me, because I _have_ no parents. I have never had parents.  
  
I can't remember ever crying this hard before. I am defenseless against the noisy, heaving sobs that make my chest hurt, that tear the breath from my lungs. I bury my face in both my hands, slick with my tears. I am covered with tears. My whole body pitches and shudders with every sob, and I'm afraid I might throw up–––I think I want to throw up.  
  
For the moment, there isn't a sliver of hope for an end to what I feel, no hope for anything at all. There is no comfort or release from this violent, infinite ache–––I want my Mom and Dad, I deserve them; but no matter how hard I work for them, no matter how hard I pray, no matter how badly my soul aches for them, I will never have them. Never. And I've seen them, in enchanted mirrors and moving pictures, so real, but only recordings. I almost wish I had no trace of them at all.  
  
And here is another Christmas I'm surviving without family. _Family..._ I think of Ron, my best friend, so blessed with six siblings and such loving parents. An abundance of family, taken so easily for granted. The Weasleys have always made me feel welcome, made sure I felt cared for and protected–––Ron and I may as well be brothers–––and as loving as they have been to me, as grateful as I am, it isn't the same.  
  
I hear the rustle of my drawn bed curtains, feel Ron's warm hand on my back, and suddenly the flood of grief ebbs, allowing me to swallow a breath. Ron has stayed at Hogwarts for Christmas while his parents are in Egypt visiting his brother Bill, but he has confessed to me that he'd have stayed anyway, for me.  
  
I smear the tears out of my burning eyes until the wetness is gone, and fumble my glasses back on, catching up with myself. Ron says nothing, knowing if he does, it will open another floodgate. Instead, he climbs onto my bed, wraps his arms around my waist, rests his chin on the back of my shoulder and rocks me gently. It feels good to be held like this, with affection and love. I know it has become addictive, but neither of us mind.  
  
We sit this way for a long moment until my breathing has evened out, and I pass a hand through my disheveled black hair. Ron presses his lips to the back of my neck. I sigh; his touch is such a comfort, always soothing the hunger I can't explain.  
  
"Thanks," I say softly.  
  
"Shh," he whispers against my neck, and I yield to the shiver that runs through me. My sadness has been washed away again, replaced now with the familiar craving for him, for the perfect and complete salvation he grants me. His arm rests on my waist as I turn to face him.  
  
His face is pixieish, sweet and so desirable. He gingerly removes my glasses and sets them aside. He leans forward, takes my face in his cool, soft hands, and kisses my mouth so gently, unselfconsciously. My hands find his shoulders and smooth up the nape of his neck into his feathery copper hair. Our lips are melting into one another's.  
  
We don't know what we're doing; we don't care. We know that it is marvelous, that it is exciting and comfortable, and that we relish every moment of our explorations. We know that it feels so right, and that is all we need to know. Because until you've felt how good it is to be held and kissed and rocked, you cannot know. You cannot even imagine.  
  
And as I sit here in a sweet embrace, I know that I want none other. Am I in love?  
  
He pulls my tie from inside my sweater, unknots it, and slips it from my collar. Once again, he's lit the fire in my hearth; every nerve in my body is charged, throwing waves of nervous excitement through me. He's so sure, his hands so steady, working up under my sweater and pulling it over my head; much surer than I. He pushes on my chest and I lay back, dizzy with desire. He climbs over me, a knee on either side of my hips, and his erection presses directly into mine; I whine softly, helplessly.  
  
By the time he has unbuttoned my dress shirt I am shaking with anticipation, my fists clenched against my mouth. In the faint light coming through the slits in the bed curtains, I watch his veiled eyes as he unbuckles my belt and pulls it from my slacks. My face flushes, and I am overcome by a wave of adoration–––anyone else I would never have let touch me the ways he has touched me. I bend entirely to him like wheat in the wind. I want him to have me; I want him to know I am his.  
  
He motions for me to sit up and I obey. He knows I will do anything he asks of me. He leans his face next to mine,  
  
"I'm going to blindfold you," he murmurs. I can feel his lips brush the curves of my ear, and my head swims perilously. I swallow hard and he draws the cool silk of my tie across my eyes, knots it behind my head, and pushes me onto my back again.  
  
I don't know what to do with myself. I hear for the first time how hard I'm breathing, and it's no wonder my head is spinning. My panicked hands clutch the quilt beneath me for dear life as my body waits, desperate for him to touch me.  
  
I feel his warm breath against my ear, and he whispers, "I'm going to tie your hands together."  
  
I hear the small clink of my belt buckle, and feel Ron's hands take both my wrists and pull them up above my head. The smooth leather belt tightens around them, Ron secures it, and lowers my bound hands to the bed over my head. His silky bangs tickle my ear and my fists ball up automatically. I lick my lips and swallow again; I'm sure I'm going to pass out.  
  
In my darkness, I can hear the quiet rustle of clothes. Fire blooms throughout me at the prospect of his soft, warm body against my own, so much smooth skin we could be a lake of it together. A blush blazes in my cheeks when I feel him unfasten my slacks and slip them gently off me, small fingers and rushing cotton. Every part of me is desperate for him; my heart is pounding, my muscles taut as bowstrings, my erection straining, every atom in me buzzing urgently.  
  
_Touch me_, I beg silently. _Oh God, please touch me..._  
  
I gasp as the length of his naked form slides over me, deliciously smooth. A flurry of little kisses lights upon my thighs, along my stomach, over my chest like butterflies–––he is devouring me. He lays against me, body to burning body, and his kisses continue over my cheeks, my ears, my forehead, and lastly, my waiting lips. I whimper against his mouth as his hands roam over me, raising gooseflesh with every caress.  
  
He lies still, one hand cradling my neck, his arm resting heavily on my chest. I feel only the pressure of his lithe body, his lips moving delicately on my cheek, and my heart beating madly.  
  
_You must love me_, I think, _To be so composed when you tease me._  
  
"This is nice," he murmurs into my ear. "I like having you at my disposal."  
  
"Mmh..."  
  
"How do you feel?" he asks, nuzzling his nose to my cheek.  
  
"Good," I breathe nervously. "Very good."  
  
"Should I get on with it, then?"  
  
"_Please_," I gush, and he muffles his laughter in the quilt.  
  
"Sorry––" I'm quick to say.  
  
"Don't be." I can hear him smile. "But I wouldn't mind hearing another 'please'."  
  
My heart pulses through my selfconscious blush, and he kisses my ear encouragingly, creeping a hand down my bare stomach.  
  
"Come on," he coaxes softly, and presses my abdomen–––a blossom of pleasure opens inside me, and I gasp, my fingers tingling.  
  
"Please!" I cry, ready to burst. _Oh my Lord_, I think rapturously, _Will I die?_  
  
Without another word, he slides down over me. His palms smooth up the insides of my thighs and he leans down between. I feel the satin of his cheek move against my rigid flesh, and watch shimmering moire patterns unfold before my blind eyes. One hand trickles dangerously up my thigh, touching my bottom with the nimblest fingers. I am beside myself.  
  
A tremor rolls through me when I feel the small, warm wetness melt over me. My hands twitch, yearning to bury my fingers in his silky hair. He teases, licks, kisses, bites just so gently–––_My little minnow._ I can't bear it...  
  
"Oh!" I can't throw my hands over my mouth, so I bite my lip instead, lost in red flames. I hardly need eyes to see Ron's sweet mouth consuming me, drawing my body and soul completely out of my right. He slips one slender finger into me and I arch, moaning helplessly as he takes me that much deeper. I am drowning in him.  
  
His finger gently strokes my core, ocean tides of ecstasy rolling through me and taking every breath from my chest. I feel his hand splayed on my hip, his feather-soft hair brushing my stomach with every move. Pleasure wells from where he is touching me, blooming and flooding me. My hands have gone numb. A cry bursts from my throat and Ron moves faster–––in seconds I am sobbing, begging aloud, trying to hold myself together as it seems I have shattered into pure euphoria.  
  
It is moments before I'm aware of Ron's fingers working behind my head, then the cool air on my tear-damp eyes as he removes the tie. He frees my hands, and I settle them round his neck.  
  
_I love you_, I try to say, but can't find my voice. _I love you..._  
  
"I––"  
  
"Shh," he says, and I submit a shallow sob. I'm trembling so badly he chuckles, pressing his hands down on my shoulders to steady me.  
  
"Come on, Harry," he laughs, "Come back to me."  
  
I open my eyes and see his smiling face over mine. My heart aches wonderfully.  
  
"Let's do it," I breathe.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Let's do it for real," I whisper, gripping his shoulders. "Please, let's..."  
  
"No, we can't do that," he smiles.  
  
"Please, I want you to," I beg.  
  
"Nope," he grins. He is precious. "Not tonight."  
  
I watch his clear eyes; he is still unfaltering, after all this, still calm, self-possessed. I, on the other hand, belong to him.  
  
He giggles suddenly and stifles it, shaking his head as he lies alongside me, both of us naked as peeled shrimps.  
  
"What?" I smile. He looks at me, eyes glimmering and grinning fool.  
  
"Merry Christmas," he says, and we burst into laughter, rolling together, until tears fill our eyes. 


End file.
